


show you a safe place to land

by elizaham8957



Series: find me here amidst the chaos [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Dany and Jon get the ending they deserve, F/M, Fix It Fic, Fluff, Healing, also i wrote this in 3 hours and still, because that makes no narrative sense, brief mentions of arya/gendry and sansa/lemon cakes, but no no no let's make dany go mad shall we?, dany is not a mad queen, happy endings, i'm not salty, i'm p sure its better than the bs we've gotten this season, if the showrunners cared about their characters or continuity, love/ comfort, the ending we should have gotten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 06:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: She closes her eyes, her heart squeezing, and the sound of the bells fades, the smell of smoke and ash in the air disappearing. Those whispers from earlier fall silent— Viserys, the Northmen, Sansa, her father. Everyone who doubted her, everyone who called her mad. They disappear, leaving in their place other words."The people that follow you know you made something impossible happen. Maybe that helps them believe that you can make other impossible things happen." Jon’s voice echoes in her mind, his words from so long ago caught there, making her heart clench. "But if you use those dragons to melt castles and burn cities, you’re not different. You’re just more of the same." She squeezes her eyes closed tighter, lets his words wash over her, feels the truth ring through them. He’s right, she knows. He was right back then, and he is right now. It doesn’t matter if these people hate her, if they don’t deserve her mercy. She will give it to them anyways. They are innocent, and she will save them, because that is what she does. That is what she has always done.Her own words echo in her head. "I will not be queen of the ashes."No. She will not be. She will not see this city burn any more than it already has.





	show you a safe place to land

**Author's Note:**

> So I am just, beyond pissed about how the back half of this season has been going, and I am therefor IN DENIAL and taking out ALL my anger over Dany's character assassination by writing fics that make much more narrative sense than whatever absolute bullshit we're being given by the show right now. I'm sorry. I have SO much pent up anger. Dany deserves so much BETTER than this!! 
> 
> That being said, this is my attempt at taking the part of the episode I was somewhat okay with and trying to fix the rest of it so that it actually made sense for the characters on the show. I've lost all hope of us getting anything this satisfying on the show itself, but that won't stop me from living in endless denial and pretending that this is the ending these characters I love SO MUCH get. And if you need me after the show is over, I'll be working on my modern au where Jon cluelessly runs a viral instagram for his dog Ghost and everyone is in character and no one suffers as much as they have in this past season. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, and that it somewhat helps ease the pain of these past few episodes. I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you ever wanna come rant about how these characters deserve so much better than they're getting rn.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/47793775012/in/dateposted-public/)

The smell of smoke should almost be suffocating.

It isn’t for her, though, the ash floating in the air like fresh snow, the heat of licking flames still warming her, though the burning ships and gate towers are no longer below her. Fire has always been Daenery’s strength, running hot through her veins. And watching the Iron Fleet and every one of Qyburn’s Scorpions go up in flames, bright and brilliant and full of power and destruction, fills her with sick satisfaction.

Cersei has taken almost everything from her— her allies, her best friend, her son. And the world has taken the rest— half of her armies, her advisors and friends, her hope. Her right to the throne. Her Jon. Now all she has left is fire and blood.

Fire and blood have always been the words of her house, the strength behind her. She watches the burning ships in Blackwater Bay, the crumbling guard towers of the city. The flames lick at the remains, bright and beautiful against the afternoon sky, and they fuel her rage, her desire for revenge against this awful woman and these awful people who have made her lose so much. Missandei’s last words echo through her mind, a mandate she wants nothing more than to follow.

Drogon roars below her, sensing his mother’s rage, perched on the edge of the city. Dany can see the Red Keep across King’s Landing, where she knows Cersei waits. Where she is sure Jaime Lannister rushes to save his sister, thanks to Tyrion’s betrayal. Another person she had faith in, turned against her. She wants nothing more than to see the Keep crumble, reduced to ash and stone and nothing more. She wants to burn it to the ground, with that evil, false queen inside it.

She can, she knows. There is nothing to stop her. No more Scorpions, no more Golden Company. Nothing stands in her way except for open sky. The red rooftops of King’s Landing stretch on and on towards the Keep, and she can see them all burn, her vision turning almost red. It’s what it deserves, this awful city. Anger tightens in her belly, thinking of how _good_ it will feel to see the city reduced to ash. This place that has beaten her down, again and again, dominated by the armies of her worst enemy. The woman who stole Missandei from her, butchered her best friend in chains right before her. She wants to destroy the home of the woman who took everything from her.

Dany inhales, rage building in her chest, and she can hear blood rushing in her ears, the urge to _burn it, burn it all_ almost overwhelming. All it would take is one word. She would just have to give Drogon one command, and he would obey. The city would turn to rubble, and she would have her revenge.

The people in the streets below her shriek as Drogon roars again, fierce and powerful, fire made flesh, truly. Dany’s stomach twists, remembering her words to Jon in the map room. She has no love here. All she has is fear. All Cersei has is fear as well, so she’s no better than her enemy. Why shouldn’t she burn them all down, reduce this awful city to rubble and smoke? These people will never want her. They will never see her as Queen, the way she naively believed they would for all those years. No, Dany is smarter now. She no longer believes those fantasies she told herself to get her though all her hardships. The Iron Throne will never be hers to claim, not while Jon lives. These people will never accept her and her foreign army, no matter what she does to save them. She sacrificed one of her children, half of her people, to save the North, and what did she get in return? Betrayal from Jon and his sister. Disdain from the Northmen. She lost so much in their fight, and _still_ they do not appreciate her sacrifices. What does it _matter_ anymore? Westeros is not her home. That has become more and more apparent to her as the days have passed. These people fear her, hate her. They will never love her. _No one_ will ever love her. If she is nothing but a monster to them, why _shouldn’t_ she be what they see?

People rush below her, trying to escape the looming shadow of Drogon, and her lips curl up in a snarl. Maybe they deserve it, she thinks. This whole awful city can burn to the ground. Who _cares_ anymore what she fought for all these years? These people are not her own.

The screams of terror below her are suddenly drowned out by a different sound, loud and clanging, echoing through the streets. _The bells._ The bells are ringing, and the city has fallen, the Golden Company and the Lannister forces defeated.

 _If you hear them ringing the bells, call off the attack,_ Tyrion had begged. But Tyrion had betrayed her, more than once in recent days. He and Varys had conspired against her, and Varys had already tried to kill her before she had executed him. Maybe this is another one of Tyrion’s clever plans— but not for her benefit. He had let his brother go, she is certain. For all she knows, the second she steps off Drogon, they could kill her, turn the city back over to Cersei.

The only thing Daenerys knows is that she has no friends left in this world. This world wants nothing more than to see her burn to the ground. The city may have fallen, but Cersei is still in the Keep, she knows. Perhaps she should just burn the world to the ground instead, to spite them all. Let them all burn.

Her fingers tighten on Drogon’s neck, her vision flashing red and her blood pounding again. It would be so easy. There is nothing she wants more that to rain fire on this city, destroy this cruel world for everything it has done to her. Tyrion and Varys’s whispers flood her mind, their hushed words of how she is becoming a mad queen. She can hear Viserys, warning her not to wake the dragon. Can hear Olenna, telling her to ignore her advisors and be a dragon. Can hear her father laughing as people burn. She sees Missandei’s crumpled body fall from above the gates, sees Jorah die in her arms, sees Jon turn away from her in the map room, even after promising she will always be his queen. She sees her people dying at the hands of Cersei, every hurt, every betrayal she has suffered making her sight go red, blood roaring and heart pounding, demanding vengeance. Let them all burn, she thinks. It’s what the world deserves. That is all she wants right now. Nothing but fire and ashes.

The bells ring louder, and she leans down, ready to whisper to Drogon, to rain fire down on the city. To give in to the building need inside her. Maybe she is mad. Maybe she is her father. Maybe it was all inevitable, the need to see everything destroyed. Maybe that is what she has always been, the dragon they all fear, finally woken. Maybe fire and blood has always been what she needs.

She looks down to the people below, the people who hate her, despise her, and imagines the city there no more, reduced to nothing but ash. Her mouth pulls into a snarl, to utter the word to Drogon, to see the world burn, but her sight catches on something: a small child, barely even five, probably, eyes fixed right on her.

Not screaming. Not crying. Just looking at her, brown eyes wide. Suddenly, she is not in King’s Landing; she in outside Yunkai, the people of the city flooding around her. A small girl putting out her hand, calling her _myhsa._

She closes her eyes, her heart squeezing, and the sound of the bells fades, the smell of smoke and ash in the air disappearing. Those whispers from earlier fall silent— Viserys, the Northmen, Sansa, her father. Everyone who doubted her, everyone who called her mad. They disappear, leaving in their place other words.

 _You are not your father,_ Ser Barristan says. _We believe in you,_ her advisors tell her. _She is the queen we chose,_ Missandei whispers. She hears Jorah call her khaleesi, sees the Dothraki follow her and the Unsullied agree to fight for her. She feels the touch of the people of Yunkai as they call her Mhysa. Feels the rough leather of their collars dropped at her feet. The blood roaring in her ears quiets, the pain twisting like a knife in her gut lessens. She has suffered so much, yes. She wants nothing more than vengeance for the people who have been stolen from her, turned against her. But those people that are gone believed in her, she remembers. And they knew that she is not her father. She is not a mad queen. She is Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, breaker of chains and mother of dragons, and all she wants in this _world, truly,_ is to help people. To break the wheel. To give people a life better than the ones they have always known.

 _The people that follow you know you made something impossible happen. Maybe that helps them believe that you can make other impossible things happen._ Jon’s voice echoes in her mind, his words from so long ago caught there, making her heart clench. _But if you use those dragons to melt castles and burn cities, you’re not different. You’re just more of the same._ She squeezes her eyes closed tighter, lets his words wash over her, feels the truth ring through them. He’s right, she knows. He was right back then, and he is right now. It doesn’t _matter_ if these people hate her, if they don’t deserve her mercy. She will give it to them anyways. They are innocent, and she will save them, because that is what she does. That is what she has always done.

Her own words echo in her head. _I will not be queen of the ashes._

No. She will not be. She will not see this city burn any more than it already has.

The bells still ring, loud and clear, breaking the silence below. The city has surrendered. The Unsullied and the Dothraki and the Northmen are below, and Cersei is trapped in the Keep. They will get to her. She will not escape this time. But Dany does not need to be the one to deliver that blow. And this city will not burn anymore. Of that she is certain.

She leans down to Drogon, eyes squeezing closed again. _I am not my father,_ she promises herself. Whatever happens— despite her losses, despite her pain, despite losing the man she loves and perhaps even the Iron Throne— she will not become her father. That is all there is left to do now. Whatever comes next for her, she will not burn innocent people alive to exact revenge. She will not stoop so low. She will find power in something other than fire and blood.

“Sōves,” she whispers to Drogon, and with a screech and a great flap of his wings, he leaps into the air.

She watches his shadow cast over the red roofs of King’s Landing, sees the dark smudges below that are her soldiers, and closes her eyes, letting her son carry her away from all of the pain she feels.

***

Dany is not sure how long they fly. It seems like a lifetime, and yet also like no time at all. The winds whip as Drogon touches down on the grassy cliffs of Dragonstone, far off from the keep. Dany doesn’t want to see that stone building, think of the throne waiting inside. She doesn’t want to think of anything to do with the seven kingdoms. For once, she does not want to be a queen. She has been strong for so long, and it almost drove her to the point of breaking. Now, she just wants to sit with her son, grieve all she has lost with no consequences. With no one to whisper about her becoming mad, or to think she is weak, unfit to rule. She slips from Drogon’s back, her child curling his large body around her protectively as she sinks to her knees in the grass, resting his head on the grassy knoll. She leans against his side, letting the heat of his body comfort her. And for the first time that she can remember, she lets herself cry, with no worries of who will see or what people will think. She cries for Missandei, for Jorah, for Rhaegal and Viserion, for Ser Barristan and her lost soldiers and all the people who followed her who lost their lives. For the love she has lost. For what she almost became.

Her tears disappear eventually, but she does not move, still curled into the side of her son. Drogon is all she has left now, she realizes. Her other children are gone, her friends are gone. Everyone she loves has been taken from her. And the person she loves, the person she thought she had finally found a home in— he has been pulled from her too, the universe too cruel to allow her any happiness, it seems.

The sun sinks lower in the sky, the horizon turning all different shades of gold and pink, the water sparkling down below the bluffs. She closes her eyes, lets the rising and falling of Drogon’s hide behind her calm her heartbeat, the cool breeze tame the fire inside of her. She never wants to leave this spot, right here. Drogon sighs next to her, his eyes sliding closed as well, and Dany’s heart clenches, thinking of a different time on this bluff, the way her heart had thundered as she watched her son draw closer to Jon, this stubborn Northern man that had been endlessly intriguing to her, fearless and humble and good. Gods, if she had known then what she knew now. Maybe then she would have been more careful with her heart. Maybe she would not have fallen in love with him, if she had known the truth. Maybe she could have saved herself the agony she feels now, thinking of him.

No, her mind insists. Loving Jon Snow was inevitable, even if it had to end like this. There was nothing she could have done to stop it. And thinking back, to those early days in Winterfell, to the feeling of his arms around her on the journey to White Harbor— even with the pain she feels now, she’s not sure she would take any of it back. It had been worth it, to love someone so completely, and to be loved in the same way, even for a brief time.

Gods, she wishes he was here. She wishes that everything was different, that he didn’t know the truth, that he wasn’t disgusted by her. She would pull him onto Drogon’s back with her and take off, fly to the ends of the earth, forget the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms entirely, and just live in his embrace for as long as he would let her.

“Dany?” she hears echo across the bluffs, and she thinks it must be her imagination, her mangled heart trying to soothe the pain she still feels, because after their exchange in the map room, she knows he does not care for her anymore. But then she hears footsteps, and Drogon lifts his head, whistling contently as Jon draws near.

He is wearing just his leathers, sword hanging at his side, hair messy and face a little bruised, but her heart still squeezes at the sight of him, wanting and longing and _love_ overpowering everything. “What are you doing here?” she asks, barely allowing herself to hope, not wanting to start believing that he is here for the reason she wants him here. His words from before still cut like a knife, the way he had pulled away from her clouding all the happy memories from before, when she was his and he was hers and that was enough, no politics or family ties tainting their love.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, his voice low, gruff, and her eyes squeeze closed at the rush of emotion she feels, unable to handle the caring in his voice. It’s a cruel taunt, reminding her of what she once had.

“I’m alright,” she tells him, though it is so far from the truth. He steps closer, cautiously, before he sits next to her, Drogon purring as he settles against his scaled hide.

“Cersei is in custody,” Jon tells her. “Jaime turned on her. Told her he was sneaking her out of the keep, then led her right to us. Tyrion and he planned it, I guess.” He pauses, and Dany allows that information to sink in. While it’s good to hear that maybe her advisors and allies are _slightly_ more loyal than she had thought, it does little to ease the tumultuous emotions swirling inside her still.

“She’s in a cell, in the keep,” he tells her. “We can try her in the morning.”

“Alright,” Dany agrees, eyes still fixed on the horizon. She will not look at him, because if she does, she knows she will crumble. And she does not want Jon to see that anymore.

“Dany,” he says, voice _so_ soft, and it feels like a knife in her heart, the blade twisting painfully as she imagines the look in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright—”

“How many died?” she asks, ignoring his question. “In the city. How many were killed?”

Jon hesitates. “We don’t know yet,” he says. “The fires were being put out when I left. They were still counting.”

Dany swallows, her heart squeezing with guilt at what she almost became. “I burned them,” she whispers, eyes squeezing shut violently. “I… I burned it all down.”

“You didn’t,” Jon insists, and she flinches when she feels his hand on her shoulder, his touch so light, gentle. “You burned the soldiers, Dany, and the towers. The Scorpions and the fleet. It was a war. There were military casualties, of course. But you didn’t burn the city. You didn’t burn the Keep.”

“I wanted to,” she admits, throat tight, and it’s then that she looks at him. She lets him see the tear streaks down her cheeks, the pain in her eyes and the guilt in her heart, and he absorbs it all, those lovely dark eyes that she adores staring back at her.

“I was so close, Jon,” she tells him, blinking furiously, trying to banish her tears. “I wanted to see it all burn. All these people I was trying to save, who _hated_ me despite everything I lost for them, everything I sacrificed to save them. I wanted to see the whole Keep reduced to ash and rubble. I wanted them to feel the pain I do.” She shakes her head, giving up her battle, tears falling from her eyes. “I wanted to burn it all down.”

“But you didn’t,” Jon insists, taking her hand. “Dany, don’t you see? You _didn’t._ That’s what’s important. You’re not your father. You’re not mad.”

“I don’t know,” she says, looking down at the ground. “Maybe Varys was right. Maybe I am unfit to rule. Too impulsive, too much of a dragon.”

Jon remains silent for a moment, before he looks back to her, eyes soft. “Have I ever told you,” he says, quietly, “about the Battle of the Bastards?”

“I’ve heard enough of it,” she tells him, not sure what that has to do with anything.

“At the beginning,” he says, voice thick, “Ramsay Bolton ran my brother across the open field, shooting arrows at him. And even though we knew we _had_ to let them charge first if we wanted any chance of winning, I ran out towards him, without a second thought. And then Ramsay shot him, when he was feet in front of me.”

Dany remains silent, sensing he’s not done. “He was eleven years old. And all I could think, when I saw his body before me, was that I wanted to kill every Bolton soldier myself, with my bare hands. Beat them all bloody until they were dead. Kill them slow, and make them suffer. And then I charged their army, by myself.”

Dany blinks, startled at this new information. She only knew of the end, how the Knights of the Vale had rode down and saved the day, how they had won the castle back.

“We all get angry, Dany,” he tells her. “It’s human to be mad. To want revenge. It’s how we act afterwards that matters.” He pauses again, and she meets his eyes, sees the sincerity in them. “You didn’t take out your anger on the city. That’s what’s important. And that is why you are the Queen they need, even if they don’t see it yet.”

“I don’t think I even want the Throne anymore,” she admits, shaking her head. “I don’t want anything to do with this country anymore. There’s nothing left for me here. There never was anything for me here in the first place.” _Except for you,_ she thinks, but she does not say that, because she knows that Jon does not feel the same anymore.

He pauses, as if he is thinking, and she watches his profile as his eyes fix on the horizon line, his jaw set firmly. “Even me?” he whispers, and Dany almost collapses again, unable to handle this hurt once more, to rehash what they both already know— things will never be the same between them again.

“Jon, please don’t,” she begs, eyes closing. “I can’t do this again. I know you don’t feel the same way about me anymore.”

“I do, though,” he tells her, and she opens her eyes, meeting his. “I love you, Dany.”

“You don’t,” she tells him, heart squeezing. “You couldn’t even look at me in the map room. You can’t kiss me anymore. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, Daenerys,” he insists. “I do. I just…” He huffs out a breath, gaze darting back to the sea. “This is normal to you. The whole… being with someone in your family. But I’m still trying to make sense of who _I_ am in all of this. And how our… relation affects how I feel about you.”

“You’re right,” she says, shaking her head defeatedly. “This is normal to me. And I still love you, just as I did before.”

“I just need time,” he tells her, eyes soft, sincere. “I love you. I want to be with you. And I understand if you can’t wait for me to get there, to figure it out. But if you could just be patient with me…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t bloody know. I wish I had never found out, truly. But I did. And I want to work it out, to be with you again. Like it was before.”

“Will you ever get there?” she asks, trying _so_ hard not to let herself hope. If she hopes, and he never can accept their relation, she will be shattered all over again. “I want you to, Jon, more than anything. But am I foolish to hope?”

“I will,” he vows, voice hard, determined. “Dany, I swear to you, I will. I need time, but I still want you. First, I need to come to terms with who _I_ am. The truth my father kept from me. But I don’t want to be apart from you. Never again.”

She can’t help it now, the flutter of her heart, the little glimmer of hope taking root in her chest like the delicate bud of a flower emerging from the winter frost, poking into the weak spring sun. He takes her hand in his, squeezing it, twining their fingers together.

“Alright,” she says, closing her eyes. “I’ll be patient.” He smiles at her then, just slightly, but his eyes crinkle at the corners, his expression soft, adoring. And then he leans in, pressing his lips to hers. His kiss is not as deep, not as passionate as she knows it can be, but his lips are warm against hers, comforting and familiar and full of love. He’s trying. And they will get there, she hopes.

That’s all she has left now— hope. But Dany thought she had lost her hope long ago, so to feel it now, slight and delicate in her chest, is another miracle in and of itself.

***

Cersei’s trial does not last long. She is found guilty, and she is executed. Dany pardons Tyrion and Jaime, not because she condones their actions, their planning behind her back, but because she is tired of dealing with violence. She is tired of being a queen. She is tired of it all.

“I don’t want it anymore,” she tells her advisors, as they stand in the Red Keep, staring at the Iron Throne.

“Then who will have it, my queen?” Grey Worm asks, and Dany closes her eyes, imagining a time in a different room, in a different country. She had spoken of breaking the wheel. If she sits on the throne, the wheel is not broken at all.

“No one will,” she decides. “Bring it to the Dragon Pit. Drogon will melt it down. The people can elect their own leaders. It does not matter how just or kind or benevolent a king or queen is. There are still people that will be crushed by their reign.”

Dany leaves Tyrion in charge, simply because there is no one else left. Her trust in him has been shaken greatly, but she believes he will oversee this selection of leaders for the country justly. For all his misgivings, he does care about the people.

In the Dragon Pit, Drogon roars before he rains fire onto that cursed chair, all the ugly swords forged together. Jon takes her hand as they watch it melt, the hilts warp, the seat collapse. And as the Iron Throne disappears before their eyes, Dany feels some of her burden lift. Finally, it feels like her life has some meaning again, the wheel her ancestors created finally smashed to bits.

“I’m not staying here,” she tells Jon, later, back at the Keep. She packs her trunks herself now, Missandei no longer there to help her. All of her belongings are shut away as Jon watches from the doorway.

“Where will you go?” he asks, taking a step closer to her.

“Braavos,” she says, without hesitation. The place that still holds happy memories from her childhood. She will settle there, far away from Westeros and its cursed game of thrones. She will just live, and hope that is enough for her now.

Jon draws near her, taking her hand. “Let me come with you.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, turning towards him with sad eyes. There is nothing she wants more in the _world,_ but she wants the same to be true for Jon. “All of your family is here.”

“Dany, _you’re_ my family,” he says, drawing even nearer, ducking to press his forehead to hers. Her heart melts at that, and she smiles, trying to fight back tears. “I’m going to try, remember?”

“Okay,” she whispers, eyes still closed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. He exhales into her, a hand coming to rest on her cheek, cup her face tenderly. Something blooms in her heart, delicate as spring, and for the first time since Jon learned the truth, she finally feels she is home again.

***

The late summer breeze carries heat to it still, the early beginning of autumn starting to creep in. Dany inhales gratefully, the tang of blooms from the lemon trees sweet and crisp and clean. The grass of their little pasture is soft beneath her feet, and she can’t help but mourn the end of the long summer months, the breeze from the sea that washes over her and the warmth of the sun that bronzes her skin. For so long she has dreamed of this, this feeling of family, of being wanted, of belonging somewhere. In their little house on the sea in the free city of Braavos, Daenerys has finally found what she always sought from the Iron Throne.

“Dany,” she hears echo across the pasture, and she turns, her husband silhouetted against the front door of their little house. It is nothing as grand as the keep on Dragonstone, the stone towers of Winterfell, but it is their home, and it is perfect for the new life they have built.

“How can you stand to be out here?” Jon asks, shutting the red door behind him, walking across the grass. “It’s so bloody hot.”

She laughs, leaning up to stroke his cheek. “My poor Northerner,” she says, and he shakes his head at her, biting back the grin on his lips. “You complained all of last year as well. Will you ever get used to the heat?”

“No, I never will,” he says, one arm sliding around her waist. “But you make it worth it.”

“You are entirely too charming, Jon Snow,” she giggles, and he grins at her then, truly, before leaning down to capture her lips with his. She sighs as his tongue parts her lips, melting into him gratefully.

“Only for you,” he whispers against her mouth, their foreheads still pressed together. He drops a kiss on her cheek, before one of his hands drifts down, resting over the swell of her belly, where their child kicks happily below his palm.

“Hello, sweet,” he murmurs softly, but Dany knows the words are for the babe, not for her. They still have three moon turns before their child enters the world, but her heart flutters with anticipation to see Jon with his son or daughter, the love she feels for both of them almost overwhelming.

“Any news from Westeros?” she asks as Jon loops his arm around her, guiding her back towards their little house, their bright red front door that he had painted for her as soon as the place was theirs.

“Aye,” he says, nodding. “A raven from Arya and Gendry. And one from Tyrion. The newly elected Council of the People has been doing well, he says.”

“And your sister?” Dany asks, resting her cheek against his arm.

“Good as well,” he tells her. “She and Gendry want to come visit once the babe is born.”

“Of course,” Dany says. “They’re always welcome here.”

“Aye, I told her as much. Sansa wrote too, asking when we could send more lemons.”

Dany laughs, thinking back to their journey at the beginning of the season on Drogon, across the Narrow Sea and all the way to Winterfell, to see Jon’s siblings. That was before Dany knew she was with child, and she had been sure to bring a peace offering of as many lemons as they could carry for Sansa’s favorite dessert.

“We can send some back with Arya, when she comes,” Dany says. “I don’t think I will be in any condition for long voyages for the next few months.”

“I wouldn’t want to leave, anyways,” Jon tells her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Going back to Westeros seems strange, still. This is home now.”

“Yes, it is,” Dany agrees, as he pulls open the red door, following her into their house. It is small, but it is perfect, everything she could possibly need. If Dany is being honest— everything she could possibly need is simply the man in front of her, and the child that grows in her belly. Nothing matters to her as much as the two of them.

“Do you ever regret it?” Jon asks, squeezing her hand. “Leaving Westeros? Leaving the Throne?”

“No,” she says, without hesitation. Everything the Throne had meant to her— everything it had stood for, everything she thought she would gain from it, she has it now in tenfold. Nothing could ever mean as much to her as the man at her side.

“I don’t regret it at all,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Because everything that happened, everything I left behind…” she smiles softly, searching his lovely brown eyes, seeing the warmth and love in them that is always present when he looks at her.

“Everything I left behind gave me you instead,” she says. “And you are worth more than a thousand kingdoms.”

“Aye,” he says, pulling her closer, arms holding her tightly, like they will for the rest of their days. “You’re worth everything to me too, Dany.”


End file.
